


Plug In Baby

by ravenclawsquill



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Mild Humiliation, Rimming, Sexual Tension, Slash, Switching, Top Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-17 14:45:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18100595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenclawsquill/pseuds/ravenclawsquill
Summary: Harry thinks a new toy might just help Draco face up to his fears of bottoming.





	Plug In Baby

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for [HP Kinkfest 2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/HPKinkfest2019/profile), for Prompt S7: Anal plug (with bonus points for humiliation). 
> 
> I'd like to say an _enormous_ thank you to my magnificent beta, [birdsofshore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdsofshore/profile), whose wise suggestions and relentless cheerleading truly transformed this fic at the eleventh hour. Without her help, there's no way this fic would ever have seen the light of day.
> 
> Thank you also to the wonderful mods for running another fabulously filthy Kinkfest (and also for their patience when I had to change my posting date!).
> 
> Finally, I'm sorry for the title. It's terrible. I know it, you know it, so let's just move on, eh?

Harry turned the neatly wrapped parcel over and over in his hands, picking nervously at the ribbon as he mentally rehearsed what he intended to say.

He’d been planning this for weeks, and he'd picked his moment carefully: Draco was always in a good mood after Theo’s Sunday morning book club. Even so, Harry was already half convinced that his plan was going to backfire.

It was a risky one, there was no doubt about it. The last thing Harry wanted was for Draco to think he wasn’t satisfied with their sex life – he definitely had no complaints on that front. What Harry _did_ want, though, more than anything, was to fuck him again.

Draco had bottomed only once in the entire eight months they'd been together – it had been New Year’s Eve and they’d both been slightly tipsy. Up until that point, Harry had just assumed that Draco wasn’t into it, and that had been fine by him. But in the early hours of the new year, as fireworks painted the night sky outside, Draco had settled back on their four poster bed and spread his legs in an invitation which Harry had been delighted to accept.

Seeing Draco fall apart beneath him, watching him writhe against the mattress, hearing him beg helplessly for more … it had been almost unbearably sexy.

‘ _So good_ ,’ Draco had groaned, his words muffled against Harry’s neck. ' _Needed this for so long…_ ’

It had been so unlike Draco to drop his guard like that; in fact, it was one of only a handful of times Harry had ever seen him truly lose control. It was also unquestionably the best sex they'd ever had – even though Harry hadn't lasted anywhere near as long as he'd have liked. 

After that brilliant first time, he'd waited, eager for a repeat performance, but Draco had pointedly refused to acknowledge it. Harry had tried to initiate things a few times over the weeks that followed, but every attempt had been casually rebuffed, with Draco even going so far as to suggest he didn’t get much out of bottoming. 

Harry's luck hadn’t improved as time went by: three whole months had passed, and there was still no indication that Draco would ever let Harry anywhere near his arse again. 

Finally, a few weeks ago, after yet another ' _Maybe next time_ ’, Harry's curiosity had got the better of him. Draco's excuses were such a contrast to the obvious enjoyment he'd shown on New Year's Eve that Harry couldn't help but feel determined to get to the bottom of it. Having failed miserably at engaging Draco in a proper conversation, he'd decided to try a different, less direct approach.

Coming up with a workable plan had required a dash of creativity, a bit of patience and a horribly uncomfortable lunchtime visit to a Muggle sex shop. He knew Draco was powerless to resist a gift, so he'd gone out and bought him one: the box Harry now sat clutching contained a plug.

It wasn’t anything special, as far as plugs went – Harry hadn't dared go for anything too intimidating. The shiny black silicone had just the right amount of flexibility, and the broadest point of its tapered bulb was thick enough for a comfortable stretch, but not so wide as to truly burn. In fact, the only unusual feature was the ridged section which ran around its middle – Harry figured if Draco was willing to give it a go, the least he deserved was proper prostate stimulation.

Harry shuddered involuntarily. Even the idea of Draco using it – the thought of pushing it into him, watching it disappear into his body – was enough to make arousal coil in the pit of his stomach. 

With some effort, he dragged his thoughts back to the task at hand. He had to approach the subject carefully: he knew Draco well enough to understand that if he buggered it up, he’d almost certainly be on the receiving end of Draco's infamous cold shoulder for at least a week. 

He was so caught up in his last minute plotting that when the Floo roared downstairs, it startled him from his thoughts so abruptly that he almost dropped the box on the floor. His Seeker's instincts kicked in at the last second and he caught it with the very tips of his fingers.

 _Here we go_ , Harry thought. He gathered every shred of courage he could muster and headed downstairs, concealing the gift behind his back. 

As expected, Draco was in the kitchen, flicking through his reading group notes while waiting for a pot of coffee to brew. 

“How was book club?” Harry asked, just as he did every week.

Draco nodded. “It was good. How was your lie in?” 

“Yeah, not bad.” 

Draco set down his handful of papers and pushed down the plunger of the cafetiere, sighing in satisfaction as a pleasing wave of coffee-scented air drifted through the kitchen.

Harry watched him pour his drink and stir in a splash of milk before it all became too much: he couldn't wait any longer. He brought out the package from behind his back.

“I have something for you,” he said, holding it out. His nerves rattled the words, forcing them out in a rush, but Draco didn't seem to notice.

“Oh?” 

As expected, Harry had Draco's full attention immediately; as a semi-reformed spoiled brat, there were few things he loved more than an unexpected gift.

He took the present from Harry and shook it gently, examining it from all angles before he eagerly tore open the wrapping paper to reveal the sleek black box inside. He paused for a moment, savouring the experience of receiving a gift, then carefully removed the lid and peered inside.

At first he looked confused, but then he grinned lazily. “Do you want me to put it in you now or later?” he asked. 

Harry swallowed; it was now or never. “Actually, I was thinking you might use it.” 

Draco looked up sharply, his smile vanishing in an instant. 

“I thought it might be nice to, um, mix things up a bit,” Harry finished lamely, stomach sinking. This wasn't the response he'd been hoping for.

“What makes you say that?” Draco asked, putting the box down on the counter. “You know that doesn’t really do it for me.”

“What, using a plug?”

Draco waved a dismissive hand. “Well, I have no direct experience with those, but—”

“Hang on,” Harry interrupted. “You've never tried one?”

Draco shrugged. “Why would I have? What kind of fool seeks out an anal plug when they don't care for penetration?” 

His manner was too casual, his tone too light; Harry knew him well enough to see it was a performance.

“But what about New Year?” he asked, unable to contain his confusion. “It was amazing, and you seemed really into it, and...”

Harry's words died away as Draco stilled, his airy manner evaporating in an instant.

“It was fine, I suppose, but it wasn't anything special,” he replied repressively, pointedly refusing to meet Harry's eye.

“But I don't understand—”

“Well I don't understand your sudden obsession with shoving things up my arse!” Draco interrupted, but his teasing tone was laced with irritation.

He strode from the room, sending a crackle of loose magic through the air. Harry stared after him, then, when it became clear he wasn't coming back, shifted his gaze to the untouched mug of coffee on the counter, feeling utterly baffled.

~*~*~*~

Though disappointed, Harry tried to accept Draco’s refusal to try the plug. He stowed the box away at the back of their wardrobe, apologised for making Draco feel uncomfortable and attempted to push the whole incident from his mind. He wasn't entirely successful – his memories of New Year's Eve still featured in his fantasies more frequently than he'd have liked to admit – but his guilt over Draco's reaction to the plug fuelled his determination not to raise the subject again. 

That all changed a few weeks later, however, when he noticed one little detail while looking for his spare pair of Quidditch gloves. Unable to resist, he glanced at the far right corner of the wardrobe where the plug lay in its box, and promptly froze.

_Surely not..._

Harry put down the armful of jumpers he’d been searching beneath and looked again, more closely this time. He examined the box from all available angles, his heart starting to pound in his chest. It was unmistakable: the box had moved. 

That alone would have been surprising enough, but there was more. It looked as if it had been put away in a hurry; the lid wasn't on properly and one of the corners was dented.

Casting his mind back over the past few weeks, Harry tried to think when Draco had been home alone. It was a rare enough occurrence; since passing his final set of Healer exams, Draco had worked even longer hours than he did. Suddenly, Harry remembered. He'd been caught up at the Ministry the previous Friday and when he'd finally arrived home, Draco had seemed flustered. At the time, Harry had just assumed he'd had a difficult shift at Saint Mungo's, but now he couldn't help but wonder if it had been down to something else.

_What if…?_

He listened hard, checking Draco was still caught up in his weekly Floo call with Narcissa. Reassured by the steady, muffled chatter coming from downstairs, Harry crept across the room and closed the door. 

With that dealt with, he dashed back over to the wardrobe, grabbed the box and took out the plug, holding it up to the light. The black silicone gleamed in the glow of the bulb, but it wasn't quite bright enough to see properly. He took out his wand and cast a quick _Lumos_ , closely examining every inch of the plug until he found what he was looking for: the faintest trace of lube, a tiny glimmering streak on its narrow neck – the fiddliest part, the bit hardest to catch with a hasty cleaning charm.

The rush of adrenaline hit him like a bludger. As far as Harry was concerned, all of this could only mean one thing: despite his insistence that he didn't get much pleasure from penetration, Draco was curious.

Harry continued to stare at the plug for a little while longer before coming to his senses. This was a piece of information to mull over, to consider carefully as he planned his next move – it wouldn’t do for Draco to come up and catch him standing there with the plug in his hand. With no small degree of reluctance, he put it back into its box and returned it to the wardrobe, leaving it as he'd found it. 

As he closed the wardrobe, Harry felt the leap of triumph which had been rising in his chest came to an abrupt halt. There was no doubt that Draco wanted to use the plug, but Harry had no idea why he kept denying it, let alone how to help him feel comfortable enough to admit to it.

~*~*~*~

The following week was a busy one for Harry, packed so full of raids and reports that he barely had a minute to spare, but it did nothing to distract him from the mystery of Draco's contradictory words and actions surrounding the plug.

By the time Saturday came around, he’d devised a new plan and was ready to put it into action. It was a long shot, but he'd decided to try and tempt Draco with a bet on that afternoon’s Quidditch match. Funnily enough, he felt more confident about this than he had about any of his previous attempts to talk to Draco about bottoming: there were few things Draco loved more than Quidditch, but winning definitely fell into that category. Draco's ruthless competitive streak combined with his love for the Magpies would surely make it impossible for him to resist.

Harry purposely waited until five minutes before take-off before joining Draco in the living room. The Wireless was already on, the commentator listing the team lineups as Harry strode over to the coffee table and pointedly set down the box containing the plug. “I’m going to make you an offer,” he said, relieved when his voice came out sounding calm and confident. 

Draco balked as he realised what Harry had brought into the room. “We’ve already had this conversation,” he said in the same overly casual tone he’d used when he first turned down the plug. “I know my arse is irresistible, and Merlin knows you’ve developed some kind of fetish for it, but if you think I’m going to miss the match, you’ve been Confunded. Now shut up, it’s about to start.”

He moved the box off the coffee table with a quick _Leviosa_ before flicking his wand at the Wireless, turning it up loud enough that in any other circumstances, it would have put an immediate end to the conversation. Harry wasn’t giving up that easily, though.

“How about we make a bet?” he proposed, having to speak a little louder than was entirely comfortable to make himself heard over the commentator.

Draco raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself. After a moment of indecision, he heaved a sigh and turned the volume back down. “Go on.”

Harry had to fight to conceal his grin. “If the Harpies win, you'll try the plug … but if the Magpies win, I’ll _willingly_ go to Zabini's and let Blaise cut my hair.”

Draco had leapt up, ready to protest, but he seemed to choke on his words. He'd been trying to coerce Harry into paying Blaise's salon a visit for months, convinced that if there was a way to tame his unruly hair, Blaise was the person most likely to find it. So far Harry had resisted Draco's efforts almost as steadfastly as Draco had put off bottoming, but he figured the risk of a ridiculous haircut was a small price to pay for the chance to coax Draco into using the plug.

“Fine,” Draco muttered, effectively outmanoeuvred. He scowled pensively for a few seconds before his expression suddenly brightened. “It’s not as if you stand a chance, anyway. Even with Weasley as Seeker, the Harpies are by far the weaker team.”

Unfortunately for Harry, Draco was right. Two hours in, the Magpies were absolutely thrashing the Harpies. Not only were the goals coming thick and fast, it sounded as though their Seeker was easily outflying Ginny. Draco took to glancing at Harry’s hair every few minutes as if fantasising about it being chopped off, an unbearably smug smirk on his face, and when the teams stopped for a water break he even Floo-called the salon to find out when they could fit Harry in.

Matters didn’t improve when the game recommenced: the Magpies scored a further three goals almost immediately. Harry had all but resigned himself to feeling the wrath of Blaise's notoriously sharp scissors when, suddenly, the commentator’s steady flow of speech exploded into a shout.

_‘Merlin's beard, what a dive! And she's done it! Weasley catches the snitch! Harpies 240, Magpies 230!’_

Harry blinked, straining his ears in disbelief. His stomach swooped as he chanced a look at Draco, whose self-satisfied grin had vanished so quickly it was as if it had been _Scourgified_ from his face. The commentator had started raving in great detail about Ginny’s dive for the Snitch without so much as pausing to take a breath, but the Wireless had become background noise, upstaged by the sudden pounding of Harry’s heart in his chest.

Draco, meanwhile, sat perfectly still, his lips pressed together in a tight line. Harry knew that expression well; he was trying to find a loophole. Any moment now, he’d come up with some nuanced technicality to ruin Harry’s victory. Harry waited with bated breath … but it didn’t come. 

“Alright,” Draco muttered eventually. “You win.”

Harry blinked. “Seriously?”

Draco slumped back against the sofa, running his hands through his hair. “As much as I hate to admit it, you’ve won the bet.” He sighed heavily, his narrow shoulders rising and falling sharply as he got to his feet. “Can we give it a miss today, though?” he asked with a grimace. “I’d prefer a bit more warning, if that’s alright by you.”

His reluctance was like a bucket of cold water, instantly dousing Harry’s excitement. This was supposed to be fun; seeing Draco treat it like a forfeit was about as sexy as a lingerie-clad Dementor. “Sit back down, you prat,” Harry said, trying to mask his disappointment. “We don’t have to do it at all if you don’t want to.” 

“What, and give you the moral high ground?” Draco said wryly. “We’ll do it. I agreed to the terms and you won the bet, that's all there is to it.” He paused. “We'll do it next weekend.”

Harry bit his lip. “Are you sure?” 

Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m sure. It’s only fair – we both know there’s no way I’d have let you off the hook if the Magpies had won. You’d have been at the salon with a set of clippers against your neck before the players had so much as removed their gloves,” he mused, looking at Harry’s hair with great sorrow for a long moment before suddenly coming back to himself. “Speaking of which, I need to call Blaise and cancel your appointment.”

Harry frowned. “Hang on, you actually booked the appointment? I thought you were just checking his availability!”

Draco smirked. “Oh, come on, Harry. It would hardly have been fair to subject poor Blaise to … _that_ … without giving him as much notice as possible. He’d have needed to sharpen his scissors, for a start.” He got down on his knees in front of the empty fireplace and scooped up a handful of Floo powder. “Unless you fancy getting your hair cut anyway?

“Nope,” Harry grinned. “In fact, I think I might grow it out for a few months.”

~*~*~*~

On reflection, Harry was confident that Draco’s suggestion to let a week pass before allowing Harry to claim his prize had been a good one. He felt less guilty knowing that they’d be doing it on Draco’s terms, and the delay had also resulted in the added bonus of giving Harry time to set up a little surprise.

When four o’clock came around the following Saturday afternoon, Harry was in position by the fireplace, pulse thrumming with adrenaline as he waited for Draco to arrive home from the Manor. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t resist glancing over at the sofa from time to time, where the plug was safely concealed behind a cushion; the last thing he wanted was to put Draco on edge before they even got started.

Green flames leapt in the fireplace, licking at the sides of the chimney as Draco's slim figure appeared among them. He stepped out onto the hearth and jumped violently at the unexpected sight of Harry standing right in front of him. 

He drew breath to speak, but Harry pounced immediately, before Draco could begin the undoubtedly snarky comment he was about to make. His words were lost to Harry's mouth as Harry pulled him in for a fierce kiss, which he reciprocated with slightly stunned enthusiasm.

As they kissed, Harry cast a wandless _Accio_ to summon the plug from its hiding place. He slipped his arms around Draco's waist, covertly reaching out to catch it without ever losing the rhythm of the kiss. Harry held the plug behind Draco’s back, running the tip of his index finger over the ridged section and trying to mask a shudder at the thought of those very contours stimulating Draco from inside his body. 

The hairs on the back of Harry’s neck prickled as Draco bit down hard on his bottom lip; if anything, Draco’s obliviousness of the plug served to heighten the sensation. Harry shivered, unable to suppress a shaky exhale. 

“Cold?” Draco asked, staying close enough that his nose stayed in contact with Harry’s as he spoke. 

“No,” Harry said. He moved back, pulling his arms from around Draco’s waist and, heart thudding violently, held up the plug for him to see. “Ready?” 

Draco's gaze flickered down to the plug and immediately back up, but not before Harry caught sight of the momentary flash of fear in his eyes. “Oh. I—yes, I suppose so.” 

“Are you sure?” Harry asked, valiantly ignoring the way his cock protested in his pants at the prospect Draco backing out. “Because we really don't have to, you know.” 

Draco arched an eyebrow. “Do we not?” he asked, voice practically dripping with sarcasm. “How very heroic of you.” He leaned in to carry on the kiss, but Harry pulled back: Draco only ever spoke like that when he felt threatened. 

“Seriously. What's this really about?” he asked. “I'm not an idiot, Draco.”

Draco turned away, casting his gaze restlessly around the room. When he spun back round to face Harry, he seemed unable to stop himself from eyeing the plug in Harry's hand with great suspicion. 

“To lie back and let you use that on me – _in_ me – it’s just so…” he trailed off, frowning.

“So what?” Harry asked, determined not to let him slither out of giving an answer this time.

Draco sighed. “I don’t know, Harry. _Weak_.”

The word was so unexpected, so utterly unwelcome, that it took Harry a moment to process it. Once he had, his temper flared. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded. “Do you think _I'm_ weak for bottoming?”

“Of course not!” Draco retorted, rolling his eyes with such scorn it instantly took Harry back to their Hogwarts days. “Weak was the wrong word. I meant submissive.”

“What's wrong with that, though? You can trust me. I hope you know I'd never hurt you.” Harry paused, before adding, “And for what it's worth, I find it pretty hot to submit to you like that.”

“I know that,” Draco snapped. “It's just different when it’s the other way round.”

“Why, though?” Harry pressed. “Are you worried you won't like it sober? Did I hurt you at New Year? Because if you did, you should have told me—” 

Draco snorted and shook his head, looking almost manic. “You really don’t get it, do you? Of course I’m not worried I won’t _like_ it. I _know_ I like it. I like it too much – far more than I’m comfortable with.”

Harry’s prick twitched at Draco’s words; after so many months of denial, his admission was music to Harry's ears. A victorious grin tugged at the corners of his mouth but he fought it, choosing instead to shrug. “ _I_ like it. Do you think less of me for that?”

“Of course not.” Draco paused, struggling to find the right words. “Anyway, it's not that.”

“What, then?” Harry pressed.

“You know how much I like to be in control. Lying back and letting you fuck me – whether with a plug or otherwise – it doesn't really fit with that.”

Harry reached out to put his left hand on Draco’s waist, gently easing his thumb beneath the waistband of Draco’s trousers to rub teasingly at the smooth skin beneath. “What's wrong with liking both?” he asked quietly.

Draco sighed, shifting subtly away from Harry’s touch. “Nothing. It's just not a role I'm used to these days. It's not comfortable for me.”

Harry nodded: he finally understood. “Okay,” he shrugged, smiling to mask his disappointment. “I get it. If you really don't want to try it, that's fine. I won't press you again.”

He kissed Draco on the cheek to show him there were no hard feelings, then shoved the plug into the pocket of his jeans before heading for the door. His fingers were on the handle when Draco spoke up again, sounding uncharacteristically uncertain. 

“Harry, wait. Let’s do it.” 

Harry froze. “Seriously? Are you sure?” He turned, searching Draco’s face for any sign he didn’t mean what he’d said. He didn’t find anything: unlike his tone, Draco’s expression was a picture of steely determination.

“Yes,” he replied firmly, jutting out his chin. “Like you said, I can trust you,” he added, seemingly more for himself than for Harry.

“Of course you can,” Harry agreed.

Draco smiled, apparently reassured. “Exactly. Now come on, before I lose my nerve.” He grabbed Harry’s hand and tugged it, closing the gap between them. He leaned in for a kiss, then stopped just before their lips touched as a thought struck him. “Just to make it clear, you're not to laugh at me if I get all needy.”

Harry swallowed hard. “Needy?” He couldn’t think of anything better.

Draco nodded, his expression deadly serious. “Mmm. Especially if I make any noises which are … unbecoming.”

“I’d be insulted if you didn’t,” Harry grinned, mentally accepting the challenge of coaxing as many sounds from Draco as he possibly could. 

Draco rolled his eyes and pulled more firmly at Harry’s hand. “Let’s do it upstairs, at least. If you’re going to be claiming my arse, I’d at least prefer to be lying back against a proper pillow.”

“Yeah, of course,” Harry agreed. 

He let Draco lead the way upstairs, following in a daze of disbelief that this was really going to happen. With every stair they climbed, an unexpected web of nerves began to form in the pit of Harry’s stomach: after so much buildup, the pressure to make it good for Draco was nothing short of daunting. 

Draco seemed unaware of Harry’s jitters. When they entered the bedroom he drew the curtains with a wave of his hand, then slipped off his shoes and socks. 

“Ready now?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” Draco agreed, sounding far more convincing than he had downstairs. He made his way over to the bed and sat down on the edge of it, waiting for Harry to take the lead.

Harry knew the best way to put Draco at ease was to start with something familiar; something Draco loved. Before he could start second-guessing himself, he crossed the room and dropped to his knees between Draco’s thighs. A quick look up at his partner’s face confirmed he’d made the right move. 

Harry put the plug down on the floor and ran his hands slowly along Draco’s thighs, gradually increasing the pressure as his fingers moved closer to Draco’s crotch. He made quick work of Draco’s trousers, unfastening each of the buttons in quick succession. When they’d first started fucking, Harry had moaned no end about Draco’s aversion to zips; the fussy fastenings of his trousers had consistently left Harry fumbling. These days, his fingers were as dextrous in the bedroom as they were on the Quidditch pitch – practice really did make perfect, it seemed.

Once all of the buttons were undone, Harry parted the folds of fabric to reveal Draco’s underwear. For all his protests and anxieties, Draco was unmistakably hard. His prick was straining against the thin blue silk of his boxers, a dark spot of pre-come spreading at the tip.

“Take these off,” Harry murmured, running the tip of his thumb over the damp patch, letting his nail catch Draco’s sensitive slit through the fabric. 

Draco drew in a shaky breath and nodded. He stood briefly to shrug out of his shirt, then pushed down his trousers and boxers, letting his prick spring free, before resuming his position on the bed with Harry between his legs. 

Harry licked his lips. Draco’s prick was stiff and swollen, the foreskin pushed back over the head, practically begging to be sucked. 

Harry knew better than to tease him. He took the tip into his mouth and reached up, guiding Draco's hands to the back of his head; squeezing his elegant fingers, encouraging Draco to tangle them in his hair.

Draco gave a blissful sigh as Harry’s lips slid smoothly down his length. He twisted his fingers in Harry’s hair, pulling just hard enough to sting. 

_Oh_ , that was good. Harry hummed his appreciation of the mix of pleasurable pain, scalp prickling as Draco’s fingers triggered what felt a hundred little jolts of electricity. He started to suck Draco's cock properly, settling into a steady rhythm, letting Draco control the pace through the firm pressure of his hands on the back of Harry's head.

After a minute or so, Draco allowed himself to relax into it; he fell back against the bed, hips shifting up to meet Harry's mouth as he gave himself over to the pleasure of being sucked. 

Sure enough, it wasn't long before his thrusts started to become erratic, his breathing growing laboured as his climax began to build.

Harry recognised the familiar signs and knew he needed to act quickly. Without ever faltering in his pace, he reached down and grabbed the plug from the floor. Taking care to keep it out of Draco’s line of sight, he wordlessly Summoned the bottle of lube he'd left under the bed and smeared its contents liberally over every inch of the plug. 

Just as Draco began to arch his back, Harry pulled away, leaving him thrusting helplessly into thin air.

“Pull your knees up,” Harry said, ignoring Draco's groan of protest. The words came out sounding rough and raw, giving away just how turned on he was. 

Draco took a deep breath, apparently steeling his nerves, before complying. He bent his knees, resting his feet against the bed.

Harry shook his head; it wasn’t enough. “Higher.”

Draco lifted his head to look at Harry, eyes wide. “You mean—? _Fuck_.” 

He drew his knees up further, all the way to his chest, fully exposing his arse to Harry’s greedy gaze. After a moment, Draco hooked his arms under his legs, settling into the pose far more naturally than Harry had expected.

The vulnerability of Draco's position caught Harry off guard. He realised he'd never truly had the chance to look at Draco's arse and to see it now, like this, was so startlingly intimate he almost had to look away. 

Harry forced himself to move before Draco's courage faltered. He leaned in close and turned his attention to Draco’s scrotum, teasing Draco’s bollocks with a puff of warm breath. He took each of them into his mouth in turn, sucking gently, massaging every inch of them with his tongue before letting them drop, taking in every one of Draco's delicious sighs.

Harry knew Draco was as relaxed as he was going to get, and was about to make a start with the plug when another stolen glance at Draco's arse gave him a different idea.

Draco's hole was right there in front of him, so tightly furled, the surrounding skin stained the same dusky pink as the blush which had crept across his chest … Harry couldn't resist. Instead of pulling back, he moved lower, then hesitated: they'd never done this before. _In for a quaffle, in for a snitch_ , he thought as he leaned in and gave it a tentative lick.

“Fu—! _Nnnngh!!!_ ” 

The angle was awkward – Harry immediately wished he’d flipped Draco over onto his stomach for this – but it wasn't as if he'd planned it and he knew already from Draco’s response that there would be plenty of opportunities for that in future. 

He nuzzled Draco’s arse as best he could, kissing his hole just as he liked to kiss Draco’s lips, fighting back his own groans as he lapped at the delicately crinkled skin, feeling Draco shudder feverishly beneath him. 

The intensity of Draco’s reactions took Harry's breath away – Draco _never_ gave himself over to pleasure like this. Desperate to take him apart completely, Harry increased the pressure, pressing his tongue harder against Draco’s hole. Finally, he pushed the tip gently against the tight ring of muscle, coaxing it to relax, to invite him in. It didn't take much; the hint of resistance he met melted away almost instantly and suddenly Draco was gasping, fingertips digging into the backs of his own thighs, his moans turning frantic as Harry breached him with his tongue. 

When he was pliant and panting, Harry seized his opportunity. _This is it_ , he thought as he reluctantly pulled back. 

Before Draco even had time to register the sudden stop, Harry replaced his mouth with the slick silicone point of the plug, holding it against Draco’s hole. “You okay?” he asked.

Draco made a show of rolling his eyes. “I suppose so.” He tried to drawl the words, but he was too breathless for it to sound convincing. His feigned lack of enthusiasm was at stark odds with his body language: he remained in position, his arse fully exposed, and even as he spoke a fresh bead of pre-come fell from the tip of his cock.

It was exactly what Harry needed to see. He lined up the plug properly and ran the tip around Draco's rim a few times, biting his lip as lube mixed with his saliva, before nudging the plug insistently against it, finally starting to breach him. Draco drew a deep, shaky breath but didn’t show any further signs of resistance. 

“Not so bad, right?” Harry murmured.

“No, not so bad,” Draco agreed, lifting his head forward off the pillow and craning his neck to look down at the plug.

Encouraged, Harry continued, slowly pushing the bulb into Draco's body, watching in awe as his hole began to stretch steadily around it. Once the thickest part of the plug was inside him, Harry’s fingers lost their hold on its slippery base. In a split second Draco's body snatched it, pulling it fully inside him so the flared base sat flush against his skin.

Harry caught the hitch in Draco’s breath as the plug slid into place; it took every ounce of self-control he had not to reach down for his own cock. This wasn’t the time for that, though: he hadn't quite finished. “Hang on, let me turn it.”

He gently took hold of the plug’s base, taking care not to pinch Draco’s skin, and ever so slowly, ever so carefully, rotated it. 

“ _Ahhh!_ ” Draco abruptly let go of his legs, closing his fists around a handful of their bedsheets as the ridges of the plug nudged his prostate. 

Watching Draco's composure crumble took Harry beyond wanting and into needing: the bolt of intense arousal it triggered was almost too much for him to bear. He pressed the heel of his palm against his erection, groaning at the hint of relief it offered his aching cock. It wasn't enough, not by far; all he wanted, more than anything in the world, was to pull the plug from Draco's arse and slide his cock in there instead, to bury himself to the hilt and lose himself in the tight heat of it, to fuck him into the mattress until they both fell apart completely…

Harry bit down hard on his bottom lip, grateful when the sting of it helped to stem the flow of his racing thoughts. “How does it feel?” he asked when his mind was firmly back in the present, though he didn’t need to; Draco’s cock was leaking steadily onto the pale skin of his stomach, pooling in the hollow between his hip bones. Harry leaned in and licked it up, taking in the salty tang of Draco’s arousal. 

Draco arched into it, only to whine when Harry abruptly stopped and got to his feet. He sat up, frowning, and shuddered – Harry knew he'd have felt the pressure of the plug increase as his weight pushed it deeper into his body. “It feels— _oh!_ —alright,” he said, moving his hips against the mattress to test the sensations of the plug.

Pulse surging, Harry watched Draco's face for every tiny change of expression. He’d have loved nothing more than to strip off his own clothes and spend the evening in bed with Draco, but he had something rather more elaborate planned for them.

“Right, then,” he said, trying to strike a brusque tone. “We're going out.”

Draco looked up at him sharply. “What? Surely not—”

“Come on, Draco,” Harry interrupted. “I have a surprise for you. Get dressed, I think you'll like it.”

“I need more information than that if I’m going to be walking around with a plug up my arse!” Draco hissed.

“Fine,” Harry shrugged. “We're going out for dinner. At Amortentia.”

Draco gaped. “Amortentia? Are you serious?” 

Harry nodded, fighting back a smirk. Draco had made no secret of his desire to go to Wizarding London's most exclusive new restaurant, but his desperate attempts to secure a booking had all ended in failure: it was almost impossible to get a table there. Harry normally avoided using his so-called celebrity status at all costs, but in this case he’d suspected it might just pay off. Not only had he managed to circumvent the six-month waiting list, he’d even been offered a VIP booth.

“Yeah, I’m serious,” he said. “Hurry up and get ready, we need to be there in less than half an hour.” He strode from the room, fighting a grin, leaving Draco naked and gaping on the bed.

~*~*~*~

As Harry had expected, Amortentia was packed. Every table in the dimly lit room was occupied by a cluster of important-looking diners, most of whom were deep in conversation while impeccably dressed waiters swept between them.

It was far too posh for Harry's taste, but he knew it was exactly the sort of place Draco loved, and for once he was determined not to moan about it. Even when the usher had greeted them with a deep bow and referred to them as ‘Sirs’, Harry had bitten his tongue and somehow managed to suppress his laughter.

Stuffy atmosphere aside, their booth was every bit as secluded as he’d been promised, and he had to admit that the food was amazing. Even so, Harry spent the first two courses in such a heavy haze of distraction that he barely tasted a single bite of it. He’d been so sure Draco’s acceptance of the plug had marked the start of his coming undone, but from the second they’d left the house, everything had changed again. 

Against all odds, Draco had reined himself back in. He’d pointedly ignored Harry’s hungry expression as they’d ordered their food, and as soon as the waiter had left them, he’d begun a steady stream of polite conversation that barely allowed Harry to get a word in edgeways. 

Harry waited, sure he’d slip up, but Draco’s pure-blood upbringing didn’t fail him; he looked remarkably calm and composed as he chatted about everything from work to Quidditch, so much so that Harry couldn't help wondering if he’d taken the plug out somewhere along the way.

It wasn’t until they’d finished their main course that Draco’s determined stream of light chit-chat finally dwindled. He shifted in his seat, reaching up to tug at the collar of his shirt as a charged silence stretched out between them. His expression was perfectly neutral, but Harry’s heart skipped a beat as he recognised the act for what it was: a sign that Draco wasn't quite as calm as he was pretending to be. Draco _never_ fidgeted. 

The slow simmer of arousal that had been burning in the pit of Harry's stomach all evening flared to a bright flame as he realised Draco was testing the feeling of the plug again. He watched in awe as Draco tentatively shifted his hips, experimenting with the changing sensations. It was subtle – Draco had always been good at masking how he felt and this was no exception – but now that Harry had noticed, he couldn’t look away.

Without taking his eyes off Draco’s face, Harry reached for his glass, thoughts racing. He knew what he wanted to do, but he’d been dithering since they’d ordered their starters over whether he dared actually do it.

Draco was the first man Harry had been with who truly liked dirty talk. Harry usually took on the listening role – it wasn’t as if he had a hope in hell of matching Draco’s filthy mouth, after all – but on the rare occasion that he’d set aside his self-consciousness and joined in, Draco’s delight had been obvious.

Harry took a big gulp of wine as he tried to think what Draco would say to him right now if their roles were reversed. Time was running out: it was now or never.

“How does it feel, Draco?” he asked, before he could lose his nerve.

“I don't know what you mean,” Draco replied hotly, but the blush creeping up his neck confirmed he knew he'd been caught.

“Mmm, of course not,” Harry murmured, keeping his tone low and confident. “That's why you're squirming in your seat. You think I haven’t noticed you doing it?” 

Draco swallowed. “I—”

“Tell me,” Harry pressed. He lowered his voice even further. “Tell me how your plug feels inside you. Does it feel good?”

Draco’s eyes widened in disbelief before he looked away, more flustered than Harry had ever seen him. “It feels fine.”

“I think it feels a lot better than ‘fine’,” Harry countered, watching Draco's face intently. “You can barely sit still. I bet you feel so full.” He looked at Draco expectantly, making it clear he wanted a proper response.

“I do.” Draco bit his lip and shifted again, his eyes briefly falling shut before he fixed Harry with a look of such hunger it stole Harry's breath. “Do you like the thought of it?” 

“You have no idea,” Harry said roughly, reaching across the table to grab Draco’s hand. He squeezed it, leaning in close and speaking quietly so Draco had to do the same. “The thought of it filling you, stretching you ... holding you open, ready for me to fuck you…” 

Draco shuddered, spurring Harry on. 

“It makes me want to take you home right now and make you come.” 

After so many months of feeling awkward about it, Harry finally understood why Draco loved talking dirty: the heady feeling of power it triggered within him was a rush all on its own. “I’m going to make you come so hard, Draco.” 

Draco swallowed, eyes wide. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Harry said, heart pounding. “I’m going to pull the plug out of your tight arse and fuck you till you can barely breathe.” 

Draco’s mouth fell open, but he was spared from responding; without warning, a waiter appeared at the edge of their booth to Vanish their empty plates. 

Harry smiled politely and assured the waiter that their food had been excellent, but the moment he and Draco were alone again, he leaned back in to pick up where he'd left off.

“I know you went looking for the plug,” he said quietly, watching Draco's reaction closely.

Draco grimaced. “I—”

“I know you found it. Be honest, Draco … did you try it?” Draco’s cheeks were flaming scarlet but the look in his eyes was all fire and Harry couldn’t resist pushing him a little bit further. “Did you lube yourself up and push it inside you? Was it your little secret? Is that why you put it away in such a hurry?” 

Draco visibly squirmed, mortified and aroused in equal measure. “I was just—”

“I think you were just scared,” Harry continued, unable to keep himself from interrupting; he was on a roll.

“Scared of what?” Draco asked, his voice breaking over the words.

Harry reached out and took Draco's hand again, squeezing it hard. “Of me finding out just how badly you need to be fucked.”

“ _Fucking hell_ , Harry…”

“I'm going to fuck you so well, Draco,” Harry murmured, tracing teasing circles on Draco's palm with his fingertip. “I'll give you exactly what you need, fill you so deep…”

Draco sat speechless, eyes glassy as he stared down at their hands. Then, seemingly unaware of what he was doing, he licked his lips slowly, running the tip of his pink tongue along them in a display that made Harry’s cock _ache_.

The temptation was too strong; Harry couldn’t wait any longer. He finished the rest of his wine in a single gulp and set the glass down on the table. 

“Come on, we're leaving. Fuck dessert.”

Draco blinked. “What?” 

Harry stood abruptly and dug a handful of Galleons out of his pocket. “Come on,” he repeated as he dropped them on the table. “I’m taking you home right now.”

Draco’s eyebrows shot up as he realised Harry was serious. He got gingerly to his feet, biting his lip as he straightened up and edged out of the booth. 

Harry signalled for him to walk ahead along the busy route to the Floo. It was a gesture that probably looked chivalrous to the other diners, but his true motive was far dirtier: he wanted to see Draco’s hips sway as he walked, to watch his arse as the ridges of the plug stroked his inner walls with every step. 

Sure enough, Draco’s usual saunter was conspicuously absent: his movements were a little stilted, his strides falling slightly short. Without even stopping to consider what any onlookers might think, Harry reached forward and gave Draco’s arse a firm squeeze. 

“ _Oh!_ ” Draco stumbled and spun to face him, eyes wide and cheeks burning. “You really weren't joking when you said 'right now’,” he teased breathlessly – but Harry was far past the point of teasing.

“I really wasn't,” he growled as he took Draco by the arm and all but dragged him to the Floo.

~*~*~*~

When they stepped out of the grate at home, Harry didn't even stop to brush the ashes from his clothes before he was on Draco, kissing him with a hunger that bordered on feral. He plunged his tongue between Draco’s lips, pulling him close with a firm hand on the back of his neck, but it wasn’t enough; the slow tease of the past few hours had built too far. Harry needed to taste more of him.

“Where the fuck did all of that come from?” Draco asked as Harry broke the kiss to nibble along the sharp line of his jaw. 

“Where did what come from?” Harry said, his words muffled against Draco’s ear. 

“All of those— _ahh!_ —filthy things you said,” Draco gasped, eyes fluttering shut as Harry’s lips found a particularly sensitive spot.

“I couldn’t help it,” Harry murmured against Draco’s neck. “Seeing you sitting there at such a nice restaurant in your posh suit, eating that fancy food, when nobody else knew you had a plug up your arse like a…” he trailed off, then tried again. “Like a little slut.” 

Draco’s hands were instantly flat against Harry’s chest, pushing him away. For a split second, Harry thought he’d ruined everything, but then he realised Draco just wanted to look at him properly.

 _Slut_ , Draco mouthed, looking almost dazed. It was a word he used all the time in the bedroom, but Harry had never dared to say it; he’d never quite found the confidence. Draco’s stunned expression was short-lived, vanishing as quickly as it had appeared; the look that replaced it was one of pure want. He hooked a finger under Harry’s chin and pulled him firmly back in, kissing him with a renewed desperation that took Harry’s breath away.

As the kiss deepened, Harry belatedly remembered he was supposed to be taking control. He put his hands on Draco’s hips, walking him insistently backwards until his shoulders hit the living room wall with a soft thud. This position helped; Harry’s dominant stance felt more natural than he’d expected, instantly spiking his confidence.

He pinned Draco against the wall, kissing him slow and dirty, letting his hands wander slowly round Draco’s waist before dropping lower to cup his arse. Draco hissed, hips jolting involuntarily as Harry’s fingers nudged the base of the plug through his trousers.

Lust rushed, white hot, through Harry’s veins as he felt the unmistakable bulge of Draco’s erection against his own crotch. “Upstairs,” he growled. “Right now.”

Even before he’d finished speaking, they were plunged into darkness as the uncomfortable, constricting sensation of Apparition forced his and Draco’s bodies even closer together. They’d landed in the bedroom and stumbled awkwardly into the foot of the bed by the time Harry’s arousal-fogged brain realised that Draco had Side-Alonged him.

“Better?” Draco asked quietly, the entire length of his body still pressed firmly against Harry’s. 

Harry nodded. “Yeah – but you’re wearing too many clothes.” He gave Draco’s arse another squeeze, searching for the ridge of the plug with his fingertips. “I need to see you properly ... see your plug filling your tight arse.”

Draco let out a slow, shaky breath and stepped back, inviting Harry to undress him. “Okay.” 

Harry didn’t need to be asked twice. He set to work immediately, hands clumsy in his haste to get Draco naked. Draco’s jacket slipped off easily, but after two failed attempts to undo the fussy fastening on Draco’s trousers, Harry’s impatience got the better of him. He stripped Draco completely, shoes and all, with a wandless _Evanesco_ , then grimaced, waiting for Draco’s rebuke. Draco hated when Harry Vanished his clothes – it was something that had happened far too often at the start of their relationship – but for once he couldn’t even manage a frown, let alone a snarky comment.

“Feeling eager?” he asked breathlessly.

“Just a bit. Now get on the bed,” Harry demanded as he unfastened his own trousers. 

Draco bit back a smirk and complied in uncharacteristic silence, running a hand through his hair as he sprawled back against the mountain of pillows. His cock was pink and swollen, his balls drawn up tight just as they always did when he was really worked up – when he really needed to come.

Harry drank in the view as he stripped off the rest of his clothes, leaving them in a heap on the floor in his haste to pick up where they’d left off. When he was finally naked, Harry climbed onto the bed and straddled Draco, breath catching in his throat as their cocks nudged one another. 

_Fuck_ , that felt good. He was so turned on that even the barest touch was magic. Draco seemed to feel the same; he arched up impatiently, fighting to keep their pricks in contact. 

Harry reached down and gripped both of them as best he could and, relishing Draco's low moans, slowly stroked them once, twice … then let go without warning, lifting himself up and away, leaving Draco thrusting into thin air.

“ _Ahhh_ , you bastard,” Draco hissed, glaring up at Harry through narrowed eyes.

“Sorry,” Harry grinned, not feeling sorry at all. He allowed himself a moment to enjoy Draco’s grimace of frustration before crawling down to the end of the bed, getting into position between Draco’s legs. “Bend your knees.” 

Draco did so without hesitation this time, pulling his knees right up to his chest to reveal the reveal the stark black circle of the plug's base.

Harry reached out and hooked a fingertip under it, nudging it gently. At first Draco's body resisted, clutching the plug, holding it tight … but then the resistance stopped abruptly and Draco's hole began to stretch over the bulb of the plug, revealing its full girth. Harry let the plug slide halfway out, then pushed it smoothly back into him, eliciting a sharp gasp.

Another time, Harry would have been tempted to draw this out; to fuck Draco slowly with the plug, to savour the sight of it sinking into him … but tonight his patience had finally run out. 

Harry let go. The plug slipped from Draco's body and onto the quilt in a rush, glistening with lube. It was quite a sight, but Harry could barely spare it a glance; his attention was completely focused on Draco's arse. Quite simply, Draco looked ready to be fucked. His hole was visibly loose from the plug, blushing a deeper, richer pink than earlier. 

Harry had to clench his fists, fighting desperately against the visceral urge to get on Draco right now and bury his cock in the tight heat of his arse without so much as stopping to lube up.

“Look at you,” he murmured, breathless himself from the sight of Draco, spread open like this. “So loose, so ready for me … you're _gaping_.”

The flush which had been creeping across Draco's face and neck deepened. “Stop it,” he groaned, dropping his feet back onto the bed and shifting his hips, trying to impede Harry's view. 

“Stop what?” Harry asked, pushing Draco's knees apart with a little more force than he'd intended.

“ _Staring!_ ” Draco hissed.

“I can't help it,” Harry breathed, his voice hoarse. “You look so good like this, all spread out for me. So good, Draco.”

“If I look so good, perhaps you should stop gawping and make proper use of it,” Draco muttered, somehow managing to look disdainful and desperately needy all at once.

That hint of Draco's usual snark was just what Harry needed to snap out of his trance. He grabbed his trousers from the floor and dug around in one of the pockets, fumbling a bit before he found what he was searching for. With a grin, he retrieved the small vial he’d been concealing there all evening and held it up for Draco to see.

Draco’s eyes widened. “ _You brought lube to Amortentia in your fucking pocket?!_ ” he hissed. “You absolute pervert.” 

Harry's grin widened. “I had a feeling I might get lucky. I didn’t want us to end up in the toilets and realise we didn’t have any.”

“Merlin.” Draco shook his head as if in disbelief, but Harry could tell he was impressed at the level of planning that had underpinned the evening.

As much as Harry would have loved to gloat, now was not the time. He cleared his throat, and when he spoke it was in the husky tone he’d used at the restaurant. “I’m going to finger you now.” It wasn’t a question. 

Harry unstoppered the vial of lube and let a few drops spill out onto the palm of his left hand. Then, as Draco looked on, he closed his left hand around the first two fingers of his right and drew them in and out, slowly fucking his fist in a display he'd normally have found mortifying.

It was the right move: Draco’s eyes were practically glazed with want. The only word he could manage was a barely audible “ _Fuck_ ,” but his expression spoke volumes: he was ready.

Harry ran a slick fingertip around the rim of Draco's hole, teasing the puckered flesh with a devilishly light touch before smoothly pushing two fingers inside him. They slipped in easily, right up to the knuckle. Draco gave a strangled-sounding gasp as Harry breached him, his body clenching involuntarily around Harry's fingers. 

Draco's response was almost enough to make Harry lose it right there and then, but he forced himself to be patient, preparing Draco properly despite his urgent need to be inside him. Harry twisted his fingers, scissoring them, working Draco open – and it wasn't work at all, not really; the plug had done that part for him.

Harry kept up the insistent pressure, never looking away from Draco’s face; he didn't want to miss a moment of Draco falling apart. Before long, Draco's eyes had fallen shut and his breaths were coming short and sharp, matching the movements of Harry's hand. By the time he began pushing back against it, Harry couldn't wait any longer. 

After one last deep thrust of his fingers, Harry pulled his hand away and, paying Draco's moan of frustration no mind, permitted himself another glance at Draco's hole. It was even pinker than before; his rim was swollen from all the attention, as if he'd been fucked already and was gearing up for a second round.

Harry lined himself up, letting the head of his cock nudge Draco's hole. Even this was almost too much; he'd wanted this for so long, craved the tight heat of Draco’s arse so intensely that at this rate, he’d be lucky to get inside Draco without coming. He forced himself to pause, focusing on his breathing until it returned to somewhere close to normal. 

“Ready?” he asked when he'd managed to calm himself down.

“Yessss,” Draco said, the word turning into a hiss as Harry began to push into him.

Despite all of the preparation, despite the thorough fingering, Draco's entrance was so narrow it took Harry's breath away: it took a firm push to get even the tip of his cock inside. 

“Fucking hell, Draco,” he whispered. “You’re so _tight_.”

“You literally just told me I was loose,” Draco gasped between breaths. He shifted his hips from left to right, forcing his body to yield to the pressure – though if it made any difference, Harry couldn't feel it.

“I was wrong,” Harry groaned as the head of his cock disappeared fully into Draco’s arse. “ _Ohhh_ , so wrong.” He sank deeper, inch by glorious inch, fixing his eyes on Draco’s face in search of any sign of pain. Draco expression was determined, though, and he barely winced.

By the time he was fully inside Draco, sweat was beading at Harry’s temples and they were both panting. He held still, desperately battling the irresistible need to thrust, to pin Draco's arms above his head and fuck him _hard_. The last thing he wanted was to hurt Draco; aside from the obvious, it would all but guarantee that this would never happen again.

Then Draco spoke quietly, interrupting Harry’s racing thoughts. “Harry, please.”

“Please stop?” Harry breathed, wondering to himself whether he was even capable of stopping at this point.

The look Draco gave him was scathing. “No, you idiot! _Move!_ ”

 _Oh_. Harry rolled his hips, testing Draco's reaction. When Draco hummed his approval, Harry pulled halfway out, hesitated, then let his cock slide smoothly back into Draco's arse, struggling to contain himself as a delicious rush of relief began to build.

Draco bit down hard on his bottom lip. “ _Mmm_ ... more,” he demanded, his self-consciousness apparently forgotten.

It was exactly what Harry had been hoping for.

He started fucking Draco properly, with slow, controlled thrusts, pausing at the deepest point to really let himself _feel_ the grip of Draco's arse around his cock; to savour the onslaught of sensation, the pleasure of Draco’s body tugging at his foreskin and squeezing his shaft. 

When Harry inadvertently caught Draco’s prostate, Draco pulled him down for a kiss which was nothing like any kiss they’d ever shared. Even during sex, Draco’s kisses were usually teasing and measured, designed to turn Harry on as much as possible. This was something else: this was wet and frantic, their teeth clashing in their desperation to get as close as possible, and Harry couldn’t get enough of it.

It was too good, too much; Harry’s rhythm didn’t last long. His carefully calculated pace faltered, then fell away entirely, replaced with shallow, erratic thrusts as Draco writhed beneath him.

Eventually Draco broke the kiss and let his head fall back against the pillow, eyes shut and mouth open as he sank his fingernails into Harry's back, clawing at Harry's shoulders, meeting each thrust with a decisive tilt of his hips. He looked so good, so close to coming undone, that Harry had to shut his eyes, too.

And the sounds – oh, the _sounds_ he made. They weren’t moans for Harry’s benefit; there was no theatre here. These were raw, desperate groans, utterly involuntary and interspersed with some of the neediest begging Harry had ever heard; a litany of _please_ 's and _fuck me_ ’s that built and built, finally giving way to a throaty gasp that sounded as if had been torn from Draco’s throat by force. 

“Ha— _aaah!_ —Hang on,” Draco pleaded. “Let me just—” Words having failed him, a moment of awkward fumbling ensued as he changed his position, lifting his right leg up onto Harry’s shoulder to fully open up his hips to Harry’s cock.

The new angle made all the difference: Harry could fuck him so much deeper like this, and the way Draco was writhing beneath him left Harry in no doubt that it was giving his prostate plenty of attention. It was perfect – or it would have been, if Harry’s orgasm hadn’t insisted on building quite so quickly. It could barely have been a minute before he was fighting it, pushing it back, desperately trying to prolong what had to be the best sex he and Draco had ever had. 

Just as Harry was about to warn him, Draco shoved his hand between them, his fingernails scraping Harry’s stomach as he reached down to touch his own cock.

“Let me,” Harry insisted, trying to push Draco's hand aside, but he wouldn't budge.

“No!” Draco gasped, not quite managing to meet Harry’s eye. “I— _uhh_ —I’m trying to hold off.”

Oh. _Oh_.

Harry straightened his arms, pushing up so he could look down between their sweat-slicked bodies. Sure enough, Draco was gripping the base of his cock in an eye-wateringly tight grasp. It was a challenge Harry couldn't resist. He pulled Draco’s hand away and changed his angle, thrusting upwards in a move he knew was guaranteed to maximise contact with Draco's sensitive prostate.

Draco’s eyes widened. “Harry, no, I— _ohhh_!”

Harry watched him grimace, scrabbling desperately for his last shred of self-control, and thrust into him again, much harder this time. Draco gave a low whine, arched his hips up off the bed … and then every muscle in his body went rigid as he came. 

Perhaps the alcohol at New Year had dulled Harry’s senses or perhaps Draco’s orgasm was more intense this time, but the sensation was unlike anything Harry had experienced. Draco’s arse clenched violently, squeezing Harry's cock in a vice-like grip of breathtakingly tight heat that nearly had Harry sobbing. 

Harry slowed his movements as Draco rode out his orgasm, conscious of overstimulating him. As the aftershocks ebbed away, Draco sank bonelessly back down against the mattress, his leg slipping clumsily down from Harry’s shoulder now he no longer had the energy to keep it there. 

Harry hardly dared to ask, but he knew he’d regret it if he didn’t. “Can I—?”

“Yes,” Draco sighed, nodding weakly.

 _Fuck_. Barely able to believe his luck, Harry pulled his prick almost all the way out of Draco, so far he could see the gleaming ridge where the shaft met the head. He took a deep breath, then drove firmly back in, his balls hitting Draco’s arse with a muted slap at the deepest point. 

Spent and oversensitive, the sound Draco made could best be described as a whimper. He put up no resistance, simply lying back and letting Harry use him. It was an act of submission far beyond anything Harry had ever fantasised about, and it triggered a monstrous need to finish, to come inside Draco’s arse, to claim him.

“ _Oh my god_ , Draco,” Harry groaned, beginning to lose his rhythm once again. That final surge of relief was so close, his balls were so heavy, he just needed to...

All of a sudden, Draco seemed to come back to himself. He reached up and tugged Harry's hair hard, taking him by surprise and breaking his concentration. “Come on, Harry,” he murmured with a shadow of his usual smirk. “Aren’t you going to come for me?”

“I— _ahhh_!”

“I need it, Harry. I need you to fill my tight arse with your come. I'm your slut, remember?” Draco looked intently up at Harry as he spoke and then, without warning, he clenched _hard_ , giving Harry’s prick the slow, deliberate squeeze he needed to take him over the edge. 

The onslaught of sensation coupled with Draco's words was too much. Harry gritted his teeth as he came with a moan that sounded feral even to his own ears. He collapsed against Draco’s chest, trying and failing to stifle his sobs of pleasure as pulse after pulse of toe-curling ecstasy overwhelmed him.

As his climax came to an end, Harry gingerly lifted himself off Draco, wincing at the familiar tenderness. He rolled clumsily onto the bed beside him, still shaking slightly as he came back down to earth.

Draco seemed to know that Harry needed a moment to put himself back together; they lay in comfortable silence, broken only by their breathing, as the sweat cooled and their heartbeats slowed.

“Fuck, that was good,” Harry sighed when he trusted himself to speak.

“It really was,” Draco murmured. He reached over and ran his fingers through Harry’s hair. “I’ll grudgingly admit that you were right, for once.” 

Harry wanted to gloat, he really did, but a wave of post-sex drowsiness had crept up on him so stealthily he barely had chance to register it before his eyelids started drooping. He tried to fight it, but it was a half-hearted effort at best and he soon gave in. He let himself drift, slipping smoothly in and out of consciousness for what might have been a few minutes or several hours, feeling completely relaxed.

Eventually Harry's dozing was interrupted by the telltale tingle of a cleaning charm. He opened his eyes to see Draco standing at the foot of the bed, dressed in grey silk pyjamas, wand in hand.

It was as if he'd shrugged his composure back on along with his nightwear; he didn't have a hair out of place. The only evidence of what had happened was the faint remnant of a blush creeping up from beneath the crisp line of his collar.

“That wasn't fair, you know,” he said after a long pause.

Harry's stomach lurched. He’d been so sure Draco had enjoyed it – he’d even _said_ he enjoyed it – but what if he was wrong? “What do you mean?” Harry asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Amortentia. You know how much I've been wanting to go there, and I can't remember a single bite of my meal – not to mention, you didn’t even get me dessert.”

Harry almost laughed with relief. “I suppose we'll have to go back, then.”

Draco's answering grin quickly gave way to a familiar smirk. “We certainly will,” he said silkily. “And next time, _you'll_ be the one wearing the plug.”


End file.
